


Asleep

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Series: Cross My Heart [28]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Kidnapping, M/M, drugged Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 22:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15349974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Unbetaed.





	Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.

Salazar found him at the top of the Northern tower, staring listlessly out into the dark. There were no stars, and the moon was a thin silver-white sickle hidden behind dark clouds. He was shivering, his frail shoulders trembling under the thin material of his nightshirt, and Salazar couldn't help the concern rising up inside him. It was cold enough that he suspected it might snow, cold enough that he could feel the wind biting at his nose and cheeks until they were flushed red, and here his lover with only the flimsiest piece of cloth to shield him from harsh winds.  
  
"Harry," he called, striding forward, and a touch to the delicate back verified what he'd unfortunately suspected already - the man hadn't even cast a warming charm to shield against the cold.  
  
"It's freezing out here," he murmured, his brow creasing as he failed to garner a response. "What are you doing?"  
  
Finally Harry shrugged, just a slight movement of small shoulders. His mouth worked upwards in a mockery of a smile, looking far too sad to even pretend to fool Salazar. The older man's frown deepened, but he was unable to think about anything but the weather, and how his lover might catch something. "Come inside, love," he whispered encouragingly. He lowered his voice and repeated himself, this time hissing in the language of serpents, " _come inside where it's warmer_."  
  
The Parseltongue seemed to snap Harry out of whatever fey mood had befallen him, because he straightened suddenly and shook his head. "I think I prefer it out here, actually," he said softly, but his voice was firm and Salazar knew immediately that his lover would not be swayed. The man was stubborn like that. So instead he removed his outer cloak and draped it over Harry, using the excuse to wrap his arms around the shorter man and pull him to against his body. Harry automatically nestled his head underneath Salazar's chin, the two of them slotting together perfectly, and they stood in silence as soft, pure white snow began to fall.  
  
Salazar bent his neck to press his lips against the skin where Harry's ear meet his head, scenting the wild fragrance of berries and flowers that clung to his beloved, and suddenly Harry let out a shuddering breath, as if he were crying.  
  
He froze suddenly as the peaceful atmosphere crashed and his heart began to race in panic. He'd never felt so foolish as he did when, upon turning Harry in his arms to see his face, he indeed found the wet tracks that betrayed Harry's tears to him. He'd thought them to be enjoying a brief moment of peace, of affectionate proximity, and yet he'd read the situation so badly that Salazar began to doubt other moments too, other conversations and late nights spent with Harry's back pressed to his chest. He'd imagined then too that they were happy, _content_ , but had Harry been upset then too? How long had his little wizard been unhappy, and how terrible a lover was he to not have noticed?  
  
Harry was crying louder now, biting his lip to keep the sobs at bay, and Salazar felt so utterly useless, not knowing what to do. Eventually he just pulled Harry's face into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly about the slim shoulders and pressing a kiss to wild black curls. "What's wrong, dear one?" he murmured, rocking them slightly from side to side where they stood. "Why do you cry?"  
  
Harry's fingers were tightly entwined with his robes, but as Salazar spoke he balled up a hand into a feeble fist and hit him - or pushed him really, in the chest. And then came the whisper that froze his very soul. "I can't do this anymore."  
  
He felt as if his heart skipped a beat, as if his blood raced faster than ever possible though his veins. He felt warm despite the cold wind, and he prayed that he'd heard wrong. He must have heard wrong, he told himself. Harry could never leave him, would never leave him. Harry loved him, more than his own life - he could not possibly have said what Salazar thought he'd said. And so the taller wizard asked, hesitantly, "What did you say?"  
  
Harry took a deep breath, clearly calming himself before pushing away from Salazar's embrace. "I said," he says, his voice hoarse and quiet but sure, so sure, "I _can't_  do this anymore."  
  
Salazar stared at Harry, reaching a hand up to pull a stray lock of hair behind the delicately shaped ear. Harry closed his eyes and winced, almost as if Salazar was hurting him but allowed it nonetheless. The older wizard swallowed a few times, then laughed hollowly. "I don't understand," he admitted, as if it were a great burden to reveal his shortcomings.  
  
Harry's face practically morphed with a suddenness that caught Salazar off guard until he was practically snarling, and he pulled himself away from Salazar's lingering touch with a violence that shook the wizard. "You don't understand?" he asked incredulously. "You don't _understand_?" And he pushed at Salazar again forcing back a step. "I can't stand it! I can't live like this anymore!" He seemed incensed, his eyes flashing green with fire and energy like it hadn't for a long time. Salazar wondered why he hadn't noticed that either, but the thought quickly passed as he too became angry.  
  
"What are you talking about, Harry!" he exclaimed. "You have everything you need, everything you want! What are you so lacking, what is troubling you so much that you'd rather this than _talk to me_?"  
  
"Talk to you?" Harry's face darkened. "I've done nothing but talk to you! I've tried being kind, I've tried being civil, and I've even tried to threaten you, but you won't _listen_!" Where before Harry had been crying in sorrow, he seemed more prepared to curse Salazar now.  
  
He gazed at Harry, a realisation dawning inside him, and Harry seemed to read his face right, because he glared. "Don't you dare pretend not to know what I am speaking of," he said darkly. "You know _exactly_  what I'm talking about!"  
  
And though he did not want to admit it, Salazar indeed knew exactly what bothered his lover so.  
  
He sighed, as if Harry had sorely disappointed him or let him down. "So big a fuss, over such a little matter?" he said, annoyed, but it only seemed to incense Harry further.  
  
"Little, is it?" he practically growled, freezing in place like it was the only thing keeping him under control. "You think I don't know what you've stashed underneath the castle, _beloved_?"  
  
And Salazar froze, because how on earth did Harry know? He'd been so careful, so discreet in his doings, that he'd been sure nobody else knew of his plan. He'd taken every precaution he possibly could, and yet-  
  
"How?" He asked. Harry's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"You know," he started conversationally, and yet his tone was absolutely frigid, "despite all of your intelligence and smarts, you've always had a tendency to underestimate others, and overestimate yourself."  
  
"What in the name of Hecate is that supposed to mean-" Salazar started angrily, only to be cut off.  
  
"I mean," Harry interrupted, "that you like to forget you're not the only one who speaks Parseltongue unless it suits you. I mean that you seem to think nobody will notice your absences, coupled with pathetic excuses every time you return. Do you think we're all _idiots_ , Salazar?"  
  
There was an awkward silence as Salazar tried to think, tried to speak, but failed. Harry watched him with a strange sort of vindictive, righteous pleasure, and Salazar irked at the all-knowing nod of Harry's head.  
  
"Yes," he whispered, as if Salazar had proven his every suspicion true. "I imagined so." He took a step back, gazing at Salazar as if he was already far away. He looked as if his face would once again crumple under the force of tears, but then Harry breathed in hard and blinked long and slow.  
  
"I think, Salazar," he murmured, "that I'll be leaving tonight. There is nothing more to be said here." And he turned, his back and shoulders looking a lot less fragile and a lot firmer now, despite that they suffered the same cold under the same thin material. Salazar watched, silent, as Harry walked away from him without once looking back, and felt a strange sort of crushing in his chest.  
  
He couldn't let Harry leave him, but he had never felt more powerless. Harry knew him, knew his words and his expressions, and knew what lay behind them no matter his Salazar tried to conceal. None of his words, none of his promises would do any good here - Harry would see right through them all.  
  
He looked down from the tower on which he stood alone, and watched as the snow began to fall. He imagined Harry, rummaging through their shared rooms and slowly removing all the pieces of his existence from the room. He imagined Harry wiping himself from Salazar's reality like one would wipe a spill of milk from the table, leaving no evidence that anything had ever been to the contrary. He imagined returning to that room as the sun climbed it's way to a new day, and finding a room that told naught of their shared life, and abhorred the very thought. A strange desperation overcame him, and perhaps later Salazar would think back on the emotion and name it madness. Now, however, he was caught helplessly in its tangled web, and in a sudden rush he hurried his way down to the dungeons.  
  
Harry had changed, his robes now a thicker, warmer black meant for winter daywear. His cloak lay to the side - a gift from Salazar, sometime a year ago. He'd packed his belongings into his small satchel, and was just lacing his boots up when Salazar entered the darkened room.  
  
His back was still to the taller man, and the teacher did not hesitate in raising his smooth black wand at the unprotected back. Harry must have heard him, because he turned with a small, almost imperceptible frown. "Salazar?" he said. "What-"  
  
His eyes widened at the sight of the wand pointing at him. He opened his mouth, no doubt to discourage the man from whatever he was thinking, but the regretful shaking of his head made him desist. Harry looked so lost then, so young, that Salazar was reminded painfully of the young man he'd met so many years ago, of the late night talks and quiet, comfortable dancing in the privacy of their quarters.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he meant it. Harry's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating, and looking into them Salazar could almost pretend it was a look of attraction and not panic. Want, and not fear.  
  
There was a flash of light, and then he was gathering the frozen body to his chest, murmuring promises of love and care softly to the unresponsive man as he lifted Harry into his arms. After a second's consideration, he flicked his wand to hover the pack behind him, and made his way to the chamber Harry had only alluded to knowing the existence of. He'd had concerns, before - setting Parseltongue passwords meant the other founders couldn't get in, but it did not stop Harry from discovering it - Harry, who was by far the most perceptive of them all anyway, especially when it concerned Salazar.  
  
Of course, that was no longer an issue now. There was a potion he had in mind, an idea forming just as he'd induced sheep in his lover and held his still, limp body. It'd take him maybe a day's work to brew, and then his Harry would never be able to leave him again. He laid the smaller body down with all the gentleness of a gardener handling rare and valuable flowers, and covered the body with a thin blanket before getting to work.  
  
Harry awoke twice during the process, both times attempting to stumble off the cot he lay on and potentially leave, but both times Salazar managed to catch him just before he fell and return him to his calmer state. He woke for the last time just as Salazar was bottling the potion in question, but this time he didn't move. Salazar sighed and went to sit by him, running his fingers through the beautiful, thick black locks in as soothing a motion as he could manage. Harry looked at him, his green eyes almost luminous in the dim, flickering light of the torches, and they stayed like that for a time that seemed to almost last forever.  
  
The older wizard smiled in what he hoped was a comforting expression, and reached calmly for the freshly-brewed potion. Just as he went to un-stopper it, he felt hesitant fingers on his wrist. He looked back questioningly, and Harry's mouth had twisted sadly. "Please," he whispered, so beautiful, so scared.  
  
Salazar looked on in silence as Harry gazed, beseeching but already defeated, until eventually the younger man dropped his eyes. Still saying nothing, he reached behind Harry's head to encourage his pink mouth open, and without preamble poured the viscous liquid in.  
  
"Sleep, dearest," he murmured, and watched contently as bright green eyes turned delicately hazy before finally shutting.  
  
Harry never saw the daylight again. He barely woke again, only opening his eyes for the brief hours that Salazar could escape and feed him the antidote, but by the end of their time together Salazar would once again send him off to sleep.  
  
He tried to fight, at first. Salazar tried to explain why it was necessary, that he was only doing this for them, for their love, but time and time again the younger man would try to hit Salazar, or run when his back was turned. One memorable time he'd tried to feed the potion meant for him to Salazar, and had almost managed except that the continued unconsciousness for such long periods of time had made him week and slow. Salazar could easily defend himself.  
  
However, despite that Harry would potentially do him harm, Salazar never held it against his lover. Instead he tried his best to make the younger wizard understand, and then to hold him when he couldn't. Eventually, despite his best efforts, Harry just became desensitised. He'd sit there, completely unresponsive as Salazar tried to talk to him. It was frustrating, and outside of his time in the Chamber it pushed him to increasingly violent lengths. He began being more and more open about his distaste for impure blood, his dislike turning to hate until the founders would not abide by his purist ways. His friends, who'd once stood in solidarity by him as he mourned the loss of his lover, now stood behind him as they pushed him out of Hogwarts castle, his home.  
  
Though he tried several times to return and see Harry one last time, to talk to him before he himself passed, he never managed to retrieve Harry. The man remained in his spellbound state until Salazar died of old age and loneliness, and even then Harry slept in the chamber without ageing, looking as young as he once had when he and Salazar had been _happy_. But even though he looked like he was merely asleep, by the time a young Tom Riddle found his way into the chamber on whispered promises of power, Harry Potter could no longer be awoken.


End file.
